


Bullying

by Angelily_Viventis



Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [41]
Category: Alan Rickman - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bullying, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Older Man/Younger Woman, Parent-Child Relationship, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:28:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelily_Viventis/pseuds/Angelily_Viventis
Summary: Alan and (Y/N) cannot understand why their daughter is acting strange lately.
Relationships: Alan Rickman/Child, Alan Rickman/Original Female Character(s), Alan Rickman/Reader
Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729954
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Bullying

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: these are individual one-shots and function as stand-alone chapters. None of the work in these series follow on each other unless indicated as "Parts".

"How come you're up so early?" Alan's hand brushes past (Y/N)'s exposed shoulder before he leans down and pecks a kiss on her cheek.

"I'm waiting on the dryer to finish," she yawns out while flipping a page in the Cosmopolitan over.

She tucks her leg under her on the kitchen barstool before he stills his action of filling the kettle with water over by the sink and turns to look at her.

"You're doing laundry? Darling, it's five in the morning," he says exasperated.

"You think I don't know that?" She replies with a knowing eyebrow. "It's the third time this week Aly wet the bed..." she looks down at the page, picking under her mauve acrylic nail.

"Again?"

"Yeah," she looks up at him. "I don't know what's going on," she shrugs.

"Where is she now?" He asks, placing the kettle back on its holder and setting out two cups of tea.

"I put her in the guest room, she's sleeping still. I'll wake her in time for school," her eyes close as she rolls her shoulders back, relieving them from the building tension. 

"Something has to be going on, she's never wet the bed before," he places a cup of steaming tea in front of her before taking a sip of his own.

She yawns before thanking him.

"I've asked her a few times if there's something that's bothering her or if she's having nightmares," she pulls up her shoulders, "but nothing. She didn't say anything."

He looks down at the cup in his hands with a frown, and back up again to see (Y/N) stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

"Go back to bed. I'm already getting ready, I'll take the sheets out of the dryer when it's done," he offers.

She looks at him lovingly as he leans back against the kitchen sink, still dressed in his white undershirt and baby blue cotton boxers. He looks comfortably soft and she wishes she could wrap her arms around his body and have him hold her tightly, "Thank you, darling. I'll see you in a few hours again."

She takes her cup of tea after marking the page in the magazine, leaving it on the island and trots tiredly up the wooden stairs.

At seven, (Y/N) gets up again to take a shower and dresses in a dainty black, red, and white floral chiffon dress that stops professionally above the knee. She rolls the long sleeves up past her elbows and quickly ties the mandarin collar in the front before throwing a black shawl over her shoulders.

She makes her way back into the bathroom where she puts on her usual natural make-up but adds a bold matte red lipstick to complete her ensemble. Her straight shoulder length bob has already air-dried sufficiently and she quickly runs a hot straightener through her dark brown fringe before she sits on the bed and quickly straps on a pair of nude Valentino peep-toe booties.

She places her empty teacup in the hallway on the sideboard, her wedding ring clinking against the white ceramic before she knocks on the guest room door lightly. She turns the handle and gently pushes it open, seeing Alyson stirring under the heavy covers.

"Come on sweetheart, time to get up," (Y/N) says quietly, sitting down on the bed.

"But I'm tired, Mummy," Alyson groans in response, hiding her head under the covers.

"I know. I know you're tired," she reassures sweetly. "But tiredness is no excuse to miss school."

"Mummy, please, can I just stay home?" She pleads and (Y/N) is surprised to hear her small voice on the verge of cracking.

"No, my dear. You know Daddy won't agree to tha-"

"But Mummy, my tummy hurts and I don't feel well..." she tries again, emerging from under the covers with a pout, her sandy brown hair ruffled.

"You feel fine, darling, and you know it. You're just a little tired, that's all."

"Exactly, Mumma, I'm tired," she groans again.

"I'll tell you what - I'll carry you downstairs, you can take Paddy, and you can sit in my lap. And we can cuddle while you have breakfast, sounds good?" She negotiates.

"No, it doesn't sound good. I wanna stay hooome," she whines, her tiny chubby cheeks puffed up in annoyance.

"It's a beautiful day outside. We'll have some water so that your organs can start waking up," (Y/N) says animatedly as she runs her well-manicured nails across Aly's clothed stomach, "and your brain can start functioning and then you'll feel awake too."

"I have an ich, can you get it?" Aly interrupts, rolling on her side so her mother can scratch her back.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes, slightly irritated that Alyson isn't paying attention to her words, as she drags her nails quickly over her back. 

"Under, under my shirt," Aly instructs.

(Y/N) closes her eyes, her patience wearing thin, as she proceeds to scratch Aly's back.

"Okay, darling, we do need to get going now, else you'll be late for school," she quickly glances at her Michael Kors wristwatch, "And you know your father doesn't condone tardiness," she warns softly.

With a reluctant groan and a heavy heart, Aly gets out of the bed and takes her mother's hand as the older woman leads her back to her bedroom. She sits down on her bed - that Alan made up a few hours ago - her legs swinging as (Y/N) takes her school uniform out of the closet and sets a clean pair of panties out.

"Don't look," Aly instructs as she grabs hold of the knickers and navy skirt.

(Y/N) turns around sighing, grabbing the fish food before throwing a few pellets into the beta fish tank on the end table. 

"You done yet?" She asks sweetly.

"Hm-hm, you can turn around," Aly instructs quietly, sleep still evident in her voice.

(Y/N) smiles proudly as she sees Alyson dressed in her Year 2 Thomas's Battersea uniform. She looks too bloody cute in the knee-length navy skirt, white-collar button-up shirt, navy sweater with red details, and her little white socks and black baby doll shoes.

She takes the hairbrush from Aly's perfectly organized vanity and quickly pulls her hair into a low ponytail. She knows by lunchtime it will have fallen out by then.

"Perfect," her mother proclaims before handing Alyson her stuffed bear. "Let's go get breakfast - I'm sure Daddy is waiting for us downstairs already."

Once downstairs and seated, Alan places a plate containing a cream cheese muffin in front of Alyson along with a small glass of ice-cold orange juice, tiny water droplets rolling off the side.

He walks behind (Y/N) at the counter, his hand delicately grazing over her hips as he reaches past her for the cutting boards.

"Why don't you have some breakfast, darling?" (Y/N) reminds her daughter through all the early morning kitchen noises.

With memorized movements, she quickly throws a banana, peanut butter, soy milk, honey, and a cup of ice into the blender. After the whizzing stops, she pours two tablespoonfuls of protein powder into the mixture, mixes, and fills herself a tall glass of the smoothie while eyeing her daughter warily.

"M- not hungry," she groans softly in response which actually translates to _I'm too lazy to feed myself_.

"Alyson," (Y/N) warns gently, looking over at her defiant daughter with a raised eyebrow. 

"Mummy, you promised you'll cuddle with me," Alyson groans out in protest as she rests her forehead against her arms, resting on the table.

"I'm right here," she reassures, lifting Alyson up onto her lap as she takes a seat at the breakfast nook while Alan, who is now impeccably dressed in suit pants and a crisp button-up shirt, continues to make sandwiches for lunch.

"Here, have some of your muffin," (Y/N) breaks a piece off and lets Aly eat it from her grasp.

"D'you like it? It's a new brand I got at the shop 'round the corner," Alan asks, looking expectantly over at his wife and daughter.

Alyson nods her head minutely and quietly says, "I think it's the best thing that's ever been made. Besides for me," she rests her head on her mother's shoulder while clutching Paddington.

(Y/N) looks surprised up at Alan across the kitchen, a wide smile spreading on her face. Sometimes they're left stunned at their daughter's dry humour and the witty things she utters. Alan shakes his head, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter as he continues to spread the Marmite on a slice of rye bread.

Their morning schedule is disturbed once (Y/N)'s phone rings, indicating a video call. She places her glass down on the wooden breakfast table after taking a sip before she flips the phone over with one hand to see her sister's name pop up.

"Here, you want to talk to Aunt Soph?" She encourages Alyson sweetly while answering the call and holding the phone out in front of them.

"Helloooo, family," Sophie's cheery voice rings through the speaker, her face lighting up as she sees her sister and niece.

"Hey, sis." "Hey, Soph." Both Alan and (Y/N) greet in unison.

"Where is my lovely, beautiful, exuberant niece?"

"I'm right here," Alyson answers shyly with a small smile while gently tugging at her mother's silver medical alert bracelet around her wrist.

"Oh, there you are, my furry animal friends, my little speckled egg!"

"Remind me to have her drug tested," Alan quips from behind the phone.

"I heard that, Old Man," Sophie is quick to quip back causing Alan to chuckle lowly.

"Uh-oh, why d'you look so down, Aly? And why do you look so tired, (Y/N)?" Sophie's brow furrows.

"Don't even ask..." (Y/N) sighs before placing another piece of muffin in Aly's mouth.

"Let me guess... Pshpshpsh?" She makes an imitation sound of running water.

"Yup. Third time now."

"You're kidding... Aly, is your dad's ugly face giving you nightmares, honey?" She asks sarcastically.

"Daddy's not ugly, Auntie Soph," Aly defends half-heartedly before taking a sip of her orange juice.

"No, of course not, sweetie. He's a real Picasso..."

"Probably worth one!" He calls out from the sink, causing both sisters to cackle.

"Would you two knock it off? You're worse than children," (Y/N) reprimands.

"Where are you anyway?"

Sophie flips the front camera to show fog settling over dull green mountains, long monochromatic bushveld grass in the far.

"I'm home."

"Oh, look there!" (Y/N) exclaims pointing to an animal on the screen.

"What is it, Mummy?" Alyson perks slightly up in her mother's lap.

"That is an oryx. Or _gemsbok_ , in Afrikaans."

Alan turns around, slightly confused, as he too makes his way behind his wife to look at the phone.

"An oryx is a large antelope and we get them in some parts of Africa. Like where Mummy and Aunt Soph used to live," she explains. "Do you see the contrasting black and white markings on its face and legs?" She asks Alyson, who nods her head enthusiastically.

"Are those its antlers?" Alan asks, astounded at the length of the rigid straight horns on top of its head.

"Actually, it's called horns if it belongs to an antelope," she explains, looking up at Alan and back down at Alyson.

"And can you tell if it's a boy or a girl, Alyson?" Sophie asks over the phone, zooming in on the animal.

"Say it's a male," Alan leans down and whispers in her ear.

"It's a male!"

"Very good. Do you know why?" Sophie asks.

Aly shakes her head, looking at her mother for guidance.

"Only the males have large horns," she tells her daughter.

"They almost look like two spears," Aly says softly.

"They do indeed," Alan chips in, gently squeezing Aly's shoulder in encouragement.

They spend a good fifteen minutes talking to Sophie while Alan packs Aly's lunch and backpack as (Y/N) finishes feeding her breakfast.

Alyson can feel the time to head to school approaching and looks up at her mother after rubbing her eyes with her fists, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, "I really don't wanna go to school, Mummy," she whispers in one last attempt.

"Oh, my sweetheart," a pang runs through (Y/N)'s chest as she hugs her daughter tightly.

She would gladly let Alyson stay at home even if she's not really ill, but she knows Alan will not approve and she's really not in the mood for an exchange of heated words with him about it.

"You're just a little anxious," she placates. "I promise you, the minute we walk through the school gates you'll be happy and excited to see your friends again. Look, it's Wednesday - two more days and it will be the weekend again and you'll get to spend all the time you want at home," she tries to explain.

"Daddy?" Alyson asks in a small voice and (Y/N) already dreading her request to stay home.

"Whaddy?" Alan answers cheekily.

"Will you remember me in a day?" Aly asks quietly.

"Of course, I will," he answers gobsmacked.

"Will you remember me in a week?"

"Yes, of course, darling," his eyebrows furrow as he looks over at his wife in question.

"How about in a year?"

"Yes."

"What about when you're dead, will you remember me then?" She looks at him expectantly with chestnut eyes similar to his own and her words slightly stun Alan as he approaches her.

"Ah... I will remember you for the rest of my life and possible afterlife," he says seriously and squeezes Aly's shoulder gently.

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" He plays along.

"You don't remember me?!" Alyson exclaims in tears, causing both her parents to look stunned at her sudden outbursts.

"Okay, that's enough," (Y/N) quickly remedies the situation by carrying Alyson to the guest bathroom downstairs and cleans her face from her tears.

They say goodbye to Alan with a promise that he'll be home once she got back from school, and within minutes the mother and daughter duo walk to school.

Alan swears his eyes are square by this point. Although he loves working from home sometimes, he honestly hates staring at digital screens all day. He much prefers correcting scripts by hand if it could save his eyes from becoming strained. He decides to take a short walk outside, 'round the block.

As he descends the stairs, he can hear (Y/N)'s strained voice coming from the kitchen where she's no doubt working from today. With Alyson's state this morning both parents decided to be close to home today in case the school calls and they need to go pick her up.

 _So far, so good,_ Alan thinks to himself as he looks down at his wristwatch that indicates past midday.

He makes his way out the front door and revels in the way the cold breeze flushes his face. Living just a few meters from Paddington Station, he can hear bustling traffic in the not-so-far distance. He walks a good twenty minutes, getting lost in his thoughts before he decides to head back inside.

"Discutons du procès-verbal et de l'ordre du jour de la prochaine réunion..." He hears his wife say into the phone as he comes to stand behind her at the kitchen counter, the contents of her organiser scattered all across the kitchen island. 

Her knack for foreign languages has always intrigued him. She is the only woman he knows that can speak six languages _and_ with a native accent to each. Her French is by far his favourite, judging from the goosebumps its eliciting from him.

"Your post," he whispers without wanting to interrupt and places a soft kiss in the crook of her neck before leaving her to finish her conference call, as he moves upstairs to his own office again.

"Okay, darling," (Y/N) breathes impatiently, checking her watch as she and her daughter make their way into their home.

"I have a conference call in a few minutes that I need to get to," she reminds Alyson before placing her backpack on the hook of the coat rack. "Are you hungry, do you want to eat something?"

Alyson shakes her head.

(Y/N) purses her lips and evaluates Alyson's body language.

_Something is off..._

An alarm from Alexa indicates (Y/N)'s conference is about to start and she hastily pecks a kiss on top of Aly's head.

"Okay, Bubba. Keep yourself busy - watch some telly, but keep it on low, please."

Fifteen minutes into the call, (Y/N)'s eye catches a tired Alyson making her way into the kitchen. She mutes her end of the call since she doesn't have a speaking turn for the next few minutes.

"What's up, darling?"

"I'm tired, Mummy. Can I take a nap?" Alyson latches onto her mother's thigh where she's seated on a kitchen barstool.

(Y/N) looks down to see that it's past three already and figures a thirty-minute nap could possibly help Alyson's mood.

"Yes, darling, you may. Go have a lie-down on the sofa, okay?" She places the phone against her ear again to listen if it's her turn yet.

"But I need a pillow..."

"You can take one of the pillows on the sofa," she whispers.

"Please, can I just get _my_ pillow, Mummy?" Alyson shrieks angrily, causing (Y/N) to block the phone with her hand in fear of someone on the other end hearing the shriek.

"No, my sweet, Daddy's management team is upstairs, we need to stay downstairs until they finish their meeting. You are more than welcome to grab a pillow from the downstairs linen closet then," she compromises impatiently. 

"NO! I want _my_ pillow, not some random crusty-dusty pillow..." 

"Alyson," she breathes in warning, her eyes shut, "you need to keep your voice down. If you're so adamant about getting your pillow you can wait a little while."

"How long?" She demands, slamming her shoes against the hardwood floor.

"I don't know, twenty more minutes maybe," (Y/N) shrugs and gathers all her papers, filing them categorically into her organiser while clutching the phone between her shoulder and ear.

"Ugh," Alyson groans, "I hate when they come to the house."

"Alyson, you need to stop - I'm starting to lose my patience with you, young lady. Besides, they're not at the house that often."

"What are they doing anyway?"

"Probably discussing some potential PR stuff, why does it matter?"

"Ugh!!" Alyson stomps off into the living room, leaving a despaired (Y/N) in the kitchen.

Seeing as though her conference will last for another good hour, (Y/N) decides to join her daughter in the living room, knowing that her presence would calm her daughter down.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Rickman," Alan's team bids her goodbye as the group of five make their way out of their home through the front door, (Y/N)'s arm waving them goodbye from where she's sitting on the floor behind the sofa.

"Okay, das erledigt dann das Letzte. Wir werden uns für heute bis zum nächsten Treffen vertagen. Auf Wiedersehen," she finally ends her conference call and sighs relieved as Alan walks up to her after seeing his team out the door.

"Difficult meeting?" He inquires looking down at her, his hands in his pants pockets.

" _Meetings_ \- that's the second international meeting I've had today and my German is not up to par anymore. I'll have to work on that," she closes her organiser and places her phone upside down onto it. 

"You look good with a baby," he notes.

"What?" She asks confused, looking down.

Alan's not referring to Alyson asleep with her head on (Y/N)'s thigh, but to the Baby Born doll she's clutching against her chest with one hand.

"Oh," she blows a raspberry. "Don't get any ideas. _Our_ baby wanted me to take care of _her_ baby."

She places the doll behind her on the sofa and gently moves Aly's head onto a scatter pillow before pulling herself off the floor.

He looks down at his daughter asleep on the living room floor, the pillow stuck under her head, Paddington in her left hand, and in her right, his century-old black and white fish scarf.

"Why?" He asks confused.

That's his most beloved scarf and should be stowed away in the coat closet.

"The scarf?"

"Hm."

"Don't even ask," she breathes frustrated. "She refused to take a nap and when I sent her to retrieve a pillow from the linen closet she brought that along with her. It's the only way she would go to sleep."

"Ah."

They stand in the living room quiet for a while before he speaks again, "Does she seem particularly clingy to you these days?"

(Y/N) thinks for a minute before replying, "I guess..."

"Something is going on and the quicker we get to the bottom of this, the better."

"Whatever it is, she has been mum about it," she shrugs.

"I'm going to finish up in my office, I'll be down for dinner. Unless you need help with it?" Alan offers, mentally ticking off all that he still needs to get done before calling it a day.

"No, no. I'll manage while Aly is down. You go up and finish what you need to do."

He wraps his arms softly around her middle, resting his chin on her shoulder and breathes her in while her arms instinctively snake around his neck.

"I've missed you today," he breathes in her scent and (Y/N) can't help but feel content.

"Feels like I haven't seen you all day," she agrees, her chin pressed against his chest as she looks up at him.

He was about to let go when he feels her grip tightening and he can't help but wonder if she _needs_ him. In fact, he has no idea how much a hug from him means to her during particularly stressful times. She can feel the stress oozing out of her, leaving her body, as she revels in the strong hold of his arms wrapped safely around her. She wishes they can hold each other like this for hours, but alas she loosens her grip and they pull apart.

After Alan goes upstairs, (Y/N) carries her cellphone and organiser into the kitchen, setting them on the island, as she makes quick work of preparing dinner. She boils rice and prepares a quick chicken massaman curry.

While she waits on the rice, she scans through her post and is stunned to see a letter addressed to _The Parents of Alyson Rickman._

"Have you seen this?" She extends the yellow report card out to Alan once she enters his upstairs office.

"What is it?" Alan asks unfazed as he pens something down on a script page.

"It's Alyson's report card. Take a look at it," she presses it towards him, his eyes scanning the multitude of numbers.

"Is this the one where if you're staring at it long enough it turns into the image of a swan?" She quips after a moment of him not saying anything.

"What does it say? This makes no sense to me," he says with a confused eyebrow pull and she shuffles to stand next to him, one hand resting on his shoulder gently.

"This is her first two quarters," she points to the first columns on the paper. "And this... is the past quarter's marks. She went from all nines to mostly two's. Al, she's going to fail Year 2," she sighs with a wavering voice.

"Not _our_ Aly? Surely, there must be some sort of a mistake..." his mouth hangs agape as he looks up at his wife in shock.

"What is she struggling with?" He asks stunned.

"It's the math. Neither of us are good at math and I guess we let this one slide..."

"The math I can understand, yes, but what about the rest here? English, science, I mean, it's English for God's sakes. It's her mother tongue," (Y/N) can hear the disappointment and building anger evident in his voice.

"It's her attention to detail that's slipping, things like punctuation and capitalization. Something's going on that she's not telling us about," (Y/N) insists.

"They even have an extra fifteen minutes slotted to us at the upcoming parents' evening. I'm sure they won't need thirty minutes in total to talk about how _good_ she's been," she states nervously and slightly sarcastically.

"We mustn't jump to negative conclusions. There's possibly some perfectly innocuous explanation for the time required," he placates as she makes her way to the front of his desk.

"I'll write the school immediately," he says as he grabs a piece of his customised _From the office of Alan Rickman_ stationery and starts writing frantically.

"Alan," she breathes, "It's not the eighteen-hundreds. No one writes letters anymore, just send an email. I don't think we'll get a pigeon in time to send it off," she jokes sarcastically.

"It's done, look," he holds the letter out to her.

"What the..." She looks shocked up at him. "What does this even say? God, your handwriting is worse than a doctor's."

"Oh, please," he holds his hand out and takes the letter from her again. "My fans have no problem recognising my handwriting."

"That's because they only recognise it out of familiarity. You could be signing your name as _Alan Prickman_ for all we know and no one would be the wiser."

Silence ensues before she speaks again, "Look, just send an email to the school, please."

"Alright, I will," he agrees reluctantly, "but not until we've talked to Alyson about it first. I want to hear her side."

"Yes, alright. We'll spare her the conversation until after dinner," his wife agrees.

Dinner was quiet, although both parents tried to get Alyson to open up. Alan had helped (Y/N) make quick work of tidying the kitchen while Alyson had settled onto the sofa with a picture book.

The tension can be cut with a knife as (Y/N) wrings her hands while the both of them take a seat next to Alyson on the sofa.

"Aly, won't you tell us what's really going on, please?" (Y/N) is the first to start.

"Nothing is going on, Mumma," she insists, turning over a page.

"Well, your report card would like to differ," Alan says sternly, fed up with all the secrecy.

"Why? What happened?" Alyson looks stunned between her parents.

"Darling... By the looks of things, you're going to have to repeat your year."

"Okay," she answers aloof, which of course makes Alan's blood pressure boil.

"Put down the book, Aly, please. Pay attention," Alan says firmly.

"But Daddy, I almost finis-"

"Alyson," (Y/N)'s tone carries a warning and Alyson quickly shuts the book, looking solemnly down at her knees.

"Why are your marks looking like the dog's breakfast, Alyson?" Alan asks yet again.

"Because I'm stupid, Daddy!" She yells in tears. "I'm the only one in class who doesn't know the math."

"It's your first year in school, you're only starting to count anyway, how do you not know any of the math?" Alan is flabbergasted at her statement.

"Because my brain is a rotting piece of meat, is why!"

"Alyson!" both parents yell in unison.

"I won't allow for self-deprecation in this house, I won't stand for it," Alan says firmly, anger building inside of him. "No more reading for the rest of the week."

"Alan..." (Y/N) breathes at his uncalled punishment.

"Daddyyyyy!" She throws a fit, her legs kicking against the sofa erratically.

"I'm done talking. If you're not going to tell us what is going on you can go up to your room."

"Fine!" Alyson shouts frustrated at Alan, "I'm so ugly I might as well never come out again."

Alyson throws the book across the room and quickly runs up the stairs, sobbing loudly.

"Alyson Emma Rickman! You come back here right this instance!" He blunders out as he swiftly gets up and stands at the bottom of the staircase.

"Hold up, Alan," (Y/N) puts her hand on his shoulder, interrupting his next words.

"Something serious is going on here," she says ominous and hurries up the stairs.

She opens the door to Alyson's room slowly, seeing her daughter curled up in a ball on her four-poster bed while clutching Paddington.

"Aly, talk to Mummy, darling. Why are you acting this way?" (Y/N) asks quietly.

"No reason, Mummy," she insists, her words muffled against her beloved stuffed bear.

(Y/N) sits down on the plush pastel pink bed, her one hand rubbing against Aly's back. She's surprised to find her daughter flinching at her touch and she quickly retrieves her hand.

"I'll give you a minute to formulate an answer, but I'm not leaving here until you tell me what has you acting so strange."

"I'm ugly, Mummy," her voice cracks. "And I'm the dumbest kid in class. All my other friends know their math and they can shout the answers out, but I can't because I'm stupid!!" She rambles through her sobs.

"Oh, my sweet," (Y/N) pulls her crying daughter in an upright position and rests her head against her chest.

"The math is Daddy's and my fault. If we'd just paid more attention to your homework, you wouldn't be in this mess..."

"And I'm so ugly Mumma," Alyson bawls, her stream of tears causing the chiffon dress to cling to (Y/N)'s chest. "Everyone else in the class is more beautiful than I am..."

"Darling, don't say that. You're a beautiful young girl. A seven-year-old shouldn't talk like that."

"But it's true!" She insists, followed by more crying, "I'll never be as smart or beautiful as anyone else."

"Look at me," (Y/N) lifts her head and wipes away the rolling tears. "Good grades don't just appear out of thin air, you have to work hard at them."

"You just appeared out of thin air," Alyson quips back.

"No. I'm sure my parents worked hard at it... Look, Alyson, you are only a small little acorn right now. You still need to be planted and with the right amount of sunshine and water, which is love and guidance from Daddy and me, you'll grow into a mighty oak one day."

"No-o-o-o," she sobs, "I won't. I'll just be rotting forever and ever and ever..."

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes upon, darling. You have the best qualities of both your dad and me. You have his lovely chestnut eyes which I am very much a fan of. And you have my dimples which Daddy adores. You have beautiful golden strands of hair - the colour of the beach we love to visit in Tuscany..."

Alan smiles a small smile as he listens in through the sliver of the door's opening.

After a very long monologue of (Y/N) reassuring Alyson of her worth, she finally got the small child to smile and feel better about herself.

"Now, let's try again. I think you owe your dad an apology for throwing that book of yours and raising your voice at him, yes?"

Alyson looks guiltily down where she's running her finger over her mother's tattoo on her forearm and nods her head minutely.

"Yes, Mummy."

"That's a good girl. Now, off you go," she pats her behind lightly as the child gets off the bed and runs toward the door.

Not knowing Alan is about to push open the door, she comes into contact with the hardwood as he swings the door open, and falls backwards, crying out in pain.

"OH MY GOD!" (Y/N) gasps with her hands clasped over her mouth as she shoots up from the bed.

"God, I'm so sorry!" Alan bends down and helps Alyson sit upright on the carpet.

"Oweee, Daddy!!!" She cries out, clutching at her big toe.

"Oh, my dear girl. Today just isn't your day, is it?" He makes light of the situation which elicits a soft chuckle from his still concerned wife.

"Let's see it," he instructs and Alyson blinks away the tears to reveal a bloodies big toe.

"Oweeee!" She starts to sob again.

Although they've agreed not to coddle Alyson when she's hurt, Alan can't help but scoop her into his lap as he rocks her to a calm state.

"I'll go get some disinfectant and a plaster," she walks past them and out the room.

"Here, we'll have a bath and Daddy will disinfect your toe," he leads a much calmer Alyson out into their main bedroom, through to their large en-suite bathroom.

Alan leans down and puts the stopper in, letting the warm water fill the grand claw foot tub while a sniffling Alyson absent-mindedly fingers her mother's diamond jewelry on the double-sink counter.

He proceeds to squirt a decent amount of Dettol into the water, mixing it with his hand before calling to Aly, "Okay, darling, time to get undressed."

With solemn features and a hanging head, Alyson removes her skirt and knickers along with her sweater and button-up shirt. She walks past Alan and he holds his hand out to help his daughter into the tub. A flash of something catches his eye and he cranes his neck down to see more clearly as Alyson lowers her tiny body into the relaxing hot water.

"What the hell..." he breathes silently as he lowers himself onto his knees, his tubby hand gently running across Alyson's back.

Dark purple bruises are scattered across her back and Alyson flinches slightly as Alan lets the water run over it.

"Does that hurt, darling?" Alan asks suspiciously, still gobsmacked at what could've caused this.

Alyson confirms with a small nod.

"Did you... fall or get hurt at school?" He probes, trying very hard not to cause his child alarm. Or his wife. Alan knows (Y/N) will go apeshit if she were to see this. 

Silence from Alyson causes suspicion to raise further in him and a shuffle in the bedroom alerts Alan that his wife may be close by, so he decides to consult her. 

"I'll be right back," he says to Alyson, grunting as he gets up off the floor, and hands her a Barbie doll to play with. 

"(Y/N)?" He opens and closes the bathroom door to a slither as he steps into the main bedroom.

"Hm?" She hums in affirmation as she hunches over the chest of drawers.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Oh," she stands upright, looks at him with a smile, and hunches back down over the drawers, "I lost a contact. Come help me look for it, I can barely see anything."

"Here," he picks the piece of silicon up with the tip of a tubby finger and holds it out to her. 

"Thanks," she mutters before placing it into her contact lens case and takes out the other one, putting her glasses on instead.

Alan watches her as she gathers the plasters for Alyson's injury and waits to finish before speaking up, "I'm about to tell you something but I want you to promise me that you won't freak out..."

"What's going on, Al?" She asks concerned.

"Has Alyson mentioned anything to you about children being mean to her at school or someone bullying her?"

"No, why? What happened?" She makes her way past him towards the en-suite door before he wraps an arm around her waist to stop her from entering.

"Wait," he presses. "Let's talk about this first. I have a strong suspicion that Alyson's recent behavior is evidence of her being bullied."

"What makes you say that?" Her face scrunches up in confusion. 

"Think about it - she doesn't eat the way she used to, she's moodier than usual, the tantrums, her wetting the bed, her school performance has taken a dive, not to mention the fact that she's been resistant to going to school..."

"Oh my god," she breathes and holds her hand up to her heart. "I knew something was going on, but I never suspected this. If I ever find out who did this to my baby, I will turn absolutely monstrous..."

Alan knows she's not bluffing which is why the next part is hard for him to say. 

"Darling, Aly has some bruises that I think you need to see, but again, _do not_ make a scene. It could potentially put her off from telling us the truth," he starts and they quickly concoct a plan to get Aly to open up to them. 

Alan makes his way back into the bathroom and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, picking up a cloth and squirting the rose-scented gel onto it before taking good care to wash Aly. Not long after, (Y/N) gives a soft knock on the door causing Aly to startle and the water to slosh. 

"Come in," Alan calls across the white-tiled room. 

She warily opens the bathroom door, "It's just me," she says sweetly and walks towards the double-basin sink, Aly and Alan's attention back on disinfecting the child's toe. (Y/N) stops in her tracks, her hands covering her mouth in shock as she sees Alyson's back for the first time. 

How could she have missed it? How could she not have known? _The flinching, the shielding away when getting dressed..._

Her heart aches and Alan looks up at her just in time to see her wiping at the stray tears rolling down her cheeks. He knew she wouldn't be able to handle it, she's too soft and too sympathetic not to cry. 

"Mummy, what are you doing?" Alyson calls from the tub as (Y/N) rummages through a drawer, her hair shielding her tear-streaked cheeks, her dark-framed glasses shielding her red eyes. 

"Mummy's just looking for the tweezers, sweety," she lies.

She closes the drawer and draws a deep breath before making her way over to the rub, lowering herself between Alan's legs and sitting there facing Aly, watching her daughter in the tub. His hand immediately goes to (Y/N)'s arm that's resting on his thigh, and he strokes her skin to mentally soothe her. 

"Alyson, do you know why your back is hurting, darling?" Alan pushes in a low voice.

 _Silence._

"Darling, I want you to know that whatever you tell us, you don't have to feel embarrassed or ashamed. Don't worry that we'll feel disappointed or upset, because I can assure you, we won't."

Her head droops and she swooshes the water with her hand before answering hesitantly, "there's a girl in my class who's been really mean to me."

"Mean in what way?" (Y/N) asks, gulping. 

"She makes me do push-ups in front of the class because she says I can't. She always makes fun of me and pulls my hair... and..."

"Go on, Alyson, we're listening. We're not going to get angry," Alan reassures her. 

"She shoots me down every time I try to say something in class; she makes fun of me in front of her friends; she throws my lunch on the floor during break time..." 

"What else?" Comes Alan's deep voice.

She said some mean things about Mummy..." Alyson looks up at (Y/N) and her face is open and honest. 

"What kind of things, darling? It's okay, nothing she says can hurt me."

"... She keeps saying how fat you are and how ugly I am because I'll be just as fat as you one day," her voice is on the verge of cracking and (Y/N) needs to hold herself back in order not to rush to this girl's home and give her a beating. 

Alan immediately felt his wife tense under his touch at what Alyson said. He doesn't know who to comfort first - his daughter or wife. He knows (Y/N) has had self-confidence issues growing up, but that she's worked hard on it to become the confident young woman that she is today. He has no idea what impact these new revelations will have on her self-esteem. 

"Tell me about your bruises, Aly, how did you get them?" (Y/N) asks, her voice high and threatening to break. 

"She told everybody in class that Daddy is my grandfather and that it's disgusting how old he is and how young I am... And then when I told her that's not true, she shoved me and I fell against the tables and chairs." 

"Did any of the teachers see this?" Alan asks concerned. 

Alyson shakes her head and looks down at the water again, "She always does it when the teacher steps out."

"Well," (Y/N) sighs while looking up at her husband, "you are very brave to tell us about it." She's trying to sound calm for her daughter but inside, the anger is all-consuming. 

"And we want you to know that none of this is your fault, Alyson. Nothing you did or said caused any of this," Alan reassures. "This is typical behavior from someone who lacks attention and needs to be aggressive in order to get it. This girl feels insecure about herself and she needs to feel empowered, hence why she's using Mummy and me as a target for her words and you, who appears weaker than she, a target for her actions." 

"What should I do to make her stop?" 

"Tell an adult, definitely step one," (Y/N) says. 

"Have you ever tried to stand up against her?" Alan interjects.

Alyson shakes her head. 

"Good, it's better to ignore her hurtful remarks and walk away. Soon, she'll lose interest and leave you alone."

"But we'll definitely be contacting the school," (Y/N) interjects slightly defensively. 

"Yes, but-"

"NO!" Alyson cries. "If you tell anyone she'll just hurt me more, Mummy," her chestnut eyes scan erratically between her parents, fearful of the repercussions her telling her parents might have. 

"We will handle it discreetly, dear, she won't know who lodged the complaint," Alan says firmly. "But we do need to inform the school, Mummy's right. She'll move on to another child when she gets bored with you and we don't want that to happen, now, do we?"

She shakes her head minutely. 

"Excuse me," (Y/N) says while holding onto the tub with one hand and Alan's thigh with the other as she lifts herself from the floor. 

She walks out of the bathroom as Alan wraps Alyson in a towel and proceeds to dress her in her matching blue kitty pajamas. He runs the towel through her wet hair and after hanging it on the metal hook, guides her into the master suite. 

"What are you doing?" He asks his wife after spotting her laying on his side of the bed, cellphone in hand. 

He motions for Alyson to sit between his legs on the carpet as he positions himself on the edge of the bed closest to his wife, running a brush through his daughter's damp hair. 

"I am setting up a meeting with this girl's parents for their _earliest convenience_ ," her acrylic nails click against the touch-screen. 

Alan reaches over and grasps the phone from her hands, locking it and storing it away in his pants pocket. 

"Hey! What the hell..." she protests. 

"You need to stay calm," Alan warns gently. "You cannot take this into your own hands, let the school take care of it. We will contact the school later tonight when we're all calm and our judgements are clear. This is not South Africa - we don't confront the parents ourselves, we will let the school assign a counselor who can mediate between both families." 

She huffs in annoyance and crosses her arms across her chest as she sulks against the headboard. She knows Alan is right, heck he's always right, but she doesn't have to be happy about it. 

"Mummy, you're frowning. Don't be angry, please," Alyson's small voice comes from below the bed. 

A small smile splays on (Y/N)'s face and she reaches her one arm out, "Come up here, sweetheart."

Alan lets go of her hair and she scampers onto the bed with Paddington tucked under her arm. She crawls into her mother's grasp, all fresh and clean, and (Y/N) tucks her head under her chin, holding her daughter tight against her. Alan places the hairbrush on his side table and steps out of the room, into his office down the hall. 

"Siembamba, mamma se kleintjie. Siembamba, mamma se kleintjie..." (Y/N) sings her old folk lullaby to Alyson like she does every night to put her to sleep. 

Though they never allow Alyson to sleep in their marital bed, tonight seems like an appropriate night to at least let her fall asleep in it and have Alan carry her back to her own bed later on. She strokes her head and rubs her back gently - careful not to make her flinch - until the babe is asleep in her grasp much later. 

Alan shuffles into the bedroom with sock-clad feet and places his cellphone on his side-table as he lays down on the bed. 

"Where have you been?" She asks in a whisper, her index finger softly trailing the contours of Aly's face. 

"On the phone with the school principal and counselor," he replies matter-of-factly. "Apparently, we're the fifth parents who've reported bullying from this girl called Tylisa. They've already suspended her twice in the past few months and will now take disciplinary action against her. Needless to say, she won't be returning to Battersea anytime soon." 

"I'm surprised they acted so fast, especially at eight o'clock on a Wednesday night," his wife replies impressed after checking her wristwatch. 

"Well," he grunts, placing his arms under his head against the headboard, "It is a school night, and taking into account how much we pay them annually I would sure hope they'd be at our becking call all hours of the day. Or at least deal with school matters in a timely fashion."

"Maybe we should write them a cheque to thank them for their help in all this," she suggests which elicits a confirming hum from her husband. 

"I love her with all that I have," she states matter-of-factly.

"I know you do."

"I'll go to hell and back for her. If it was up to me I'd drive to their address and give Tylisa's parents a smacking that they clearly deserve," her words are heated.

"I don't doubt that you would," a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"And I'll give Tylisa a taste of her own medicin-"

"It's sorted now, no need for you to stress about it anymore. Aly feeds off of your anxiety and upset, look how quickly she picked up on your mood earlier. If you keep thinking this way, she'll never end up having a good night's rest."

She sighs heavily. "You're right."


End file.
